


Some souls like stars

by Punxutawney



Category: 1960s Music Scene RPF, Bob Dylan (Musician), Johnny Cash - Fandom, Music RPF
Genre: Drug Use, Intoxicated Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 13:23:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Punxutawney/pseuds/Punxutawney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bob's a hell of a guy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some souls like stars

**Author's Note:**

> Johnny Cash and Bobby Dylan got trashed out of their minds in a Cardiff hotel room in 1966, and this isn't what happened. Mostly inspired by [this](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PqADZ9TNURI).

Bob's slumped against me, coming down. I'm on my way, too, thoughts all slowed down and skipping. Seems like only a blink of an eye ago he was still laughing, explaining, pointing at me and wanted me to know. Something important maybe. Can't remember what it was, and I'm guessing it don't matter anymore. We're stranded on the sofa now alone, everyone else shooed out. Someone right outside the door maybe. It's a quiet hotel, now. Near dark in the room, and when I look at Bobby's face past his curls he looks almost asleep.

It's strange seeing him like this. Might be first time I am. The way I know him is restless. Quick. He's too quick for a lot of people to follow, but I like that about him. His legs twitching. His hands always moving, searching for something, tapping a rhythm, smoking, relentlessly pulling at the world when he doesn't have his guitar. Burning with something. Hard and bright.

Now he's suddenly drained. The only movement his slow breathing and blinking. I'm not that quick either anymore. He's folded himself up and sorta got himself under my arm somehow. Usually he keeps his distance. Strange having him close right here, though I've touched him before and even then it was like he'd already touched me.

He's closed his eyes and I can look down at his face. Blank, tired. Damn near pretty the way his mouth and his eyes. Closed now. No shame in admitting a man's pretty. Elvis was mighty pretty back when. Bobby's a different kind of pretty, though. From the north. Made to last though he looks a bit worse for wear right now. Blurred at the edges. His tangled unwashed hair. Pale and the way his mouth is set, something hard but soft at the same time.

"Bobby, d'you mind if I kiss you?"

I know I've said it loud enough 'cause his eyelids twitch but his eyes stay shut. He seems to think for a couple of moments or maybe he's gone too far down to really hear.

"Nuhh," he finally drawls. "I don' mind, Johnny."

His voice is muddy, slow like the rest of him. I don't wanna spook him so I touch his face, real careful. He's still got his eyes closed but he turns to me a little. Opens his mouth a little when I got my thumb under his chin. I start by kissing his jaw and then across his cheek. There's a little stubble, rough enough that when I reach his mouth it's like finding something.

Dry lips but soft and his tongue wet. He opens up real easy. Only wanted a taste but he gets into it. Much as he can in this state. Twists around so he gets a hold of my shirt and hell. He even makes a little noise.

He pulls back from the kiss and slowly blinks at me. His eyes are red and unfocused. Dark shadows underneath. His breathing shallow and quick like he's aching somehow.

"Uh, kiss me again, Johnny?"

Don't mind if I. Christ. He tastes like his cheap wine and cigarettes and. No better myself. He's shed his fancy jacket earlier somewhere. Shoes too. We agreed it was too damn hot in the room. He's still got his fancy shirt but I think it's only fair I help him get rid of it too. I start unbuttoning it which ain't that easy 'cause he tries to help and I have to take him by the wrist and tell him to stay still.

"But this is uh, my shirt, Johnny, y'know..."

He pouts but lets me slowly get the buttons undone and help him out of the shirt. Pale as a ghost underneath. Twitches and shivers when I touch him. I wanna try kissing him again so I do just that and run my hand down his back. Feel his bones under sweaty skin, cooling down.

Bob's a hell of a guy. He's real. Real country. Real folk. Whatever you wanna call it, real. Knew it right away I first heard his voice, the way it cut right to the bone. Never heard anything like that. He knows what it's all about, more so than probably any of us right here right now. Some folks see it, some don't, some don't but pretend they do. All I know is the first time I heard him I knew he got it and he went straight into my bones and has stayed there ever since.

I can't say I remember well the first time we met. Remember it happening but doesn't seem that important anyhow. We'd been writing letters and we knew each other and any way it felt like we'd already met. All I really remember thinking was how fast he was. Nervous or plain excited, jumping up and down. He's restless like a kid. Hell, he is a kid. Tough and brilliant but still just.

There's not that much of him so it's easy to wrap around him. Wouldn't want him getting cold now, and I end up pulling him sorta into my lap with his back to my chest and he sorta sighs and his hair clouds my vision.

He doesn't seem to mind me feeling for his heartbeat. Rest my hand there. Not sure if it's his blood pumping I'm feeling or my own heart hammering. I trace his ribcage. Skin and bone. He makes more of those little noises now. I shush him. Might wake someone out there. Can hardly see a thing for all that hair of his. The little coarse hair on his flat belly. Then I'm petting his thigh and it becomes clear he really doesn't mind.

I press my palm against him and he makes a proper sound. Jesus. I don't think I could get it up in this state but he's young. What the hell.

"You really up for it, Bobby?"

He mutters his answer. I keep on stroking him through his trousers and he pushes up to rub himself against my hand. For all that he's slowed down he's still got his fire.

He's got a lot of pain, too. Not that that's what makes him special. Lotta folks got pain in them. But he's got it on show. Hit you right in the gut with it. I'm not sure if he thinks he's hiding it or if he knows what it does to people. Or if there's something else underneath. Pain under pain. Always is.

Probably he knows. People like him can be real dangerous. There's a lotta folks will give you what you want or need or think you need, if they think it'll ease your pain. Makes them feel good about themselves, or expect something in return. And even if they think they're doing it for nothing, they're still expecting something. And when they don't get that something, well. If they're angry and leave there'll be more. Lotta hearts you can break, if you're not careful. Or don't want to be careful.

The thing people don't get is that Bob's already given them what they need. That's the way I see it. Got him in my bones now and I'm grateful. I can see he's hurt but don't want to flatter myself thinking I got answers for him more'n anyone else does. Not the kinda help he might really need. But there's things other than answers too. A lotta ways you can ease the hurting for a while. Hell if I don't know.

So if right now I got nothing else to give him I'll be damned if I don't. I know I'm not the first one to to give him this. Not that I think I'm doing this out of the goodness of my heart alone. Wouldn't waste time telling myself that. Having him close like this ain't exactly unpleasant. Could probably spend the night quite cozy with him in my arms.

Bobby's getting impatient though. He wraps his fingers 'round my wrist and brings my hand up. Slowly licks up my palm 'til it's wet. Okay.

I pop open the button on his trousers. He squirms and I wrap my left arm around him to keep him still.

"Shh." He's tense and I gotta try to calm him. "I got you."

I keep him tight against my chest while I take hold of him with my other hand. Sitting like this it's easy. Can't see his face but it's alright. I can feel him breathing. That's good. At the first tug his spine curves.

"Oh, hell –"

His hips roll up to meet my hand. Takes a while for me to match his rhythm but we get there and Bob doesn't seem to mind if it's a little rough like this. His head's thrown back and I have a view of his neck, can see his throat working like he's trying to swallow his words. Some escape, low and strained in between his little moans.

"Ah fuck, Johnny, don't think I can, oh –"

He might not care about the noise he makes and ain't nobody gonna fault him for that. But I gotta. We can't. I clamp his mouth shut and he doesn't protest too much against it. If anything it fires him up some more. His shoulder blades dig into my chest and his hips pump faster.

He's fighting for it, sucking in air like a man drowning. I know he's on that edge where you're desperate and your body just won't let you. The late hour's wearing me out and I ain't giving it to him hard as he might need it. He does a lot of the work anyhow, pushing up into my fist almost violently. Must hurt him but doesn't seem like he could slow down now even if he wanted to.

Two of my fingers slip into his mouth and he bites. Don't even feel it that much but I swear into his ear and his whole body jerks and it's a damn near sob tears out of him.

"Jesus fucking –"

And then he's gone all soft in my arms and I'm wiping my hands. No blood drawn, not much anything at all. It's so little comes out of a man sometimes. Like it never happened at all.

Bob curls up slowly and leans on me once more. On the edge of sleep. He mumbles into my shoulder.

"Man, I could really use a cigarette..."

At least that's what I make out of it. Then he's asleep, and I ain't that far behind.


End file.
